


Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story

by Lenasjk



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Father-Daughter Relationship, I'm sorry!!, John is dead, Light Angst, M/M, Oops, but he's been dead for years, i don't think i make anyone to want to read this story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-19 00:17:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9408941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenasjk/pseuds/Lenasjk
Summary: Sherlock and his daughter talk about John.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I really couldn't stop thinking about it.
> 
> Btw, Sherlock is always "dad", but John is either "dad" or "father"

Annabelle was standing, leaning against doorway with a cup of tea in her hand. She's just got from school and even though she should start making lunch, she was just standing and staring at her dad with a smile. He was in his mind palace since she left for school and it looked like he would be useless for the rest of the day. When she walked into the kitchen to make herself another cup she heard her dad saying: "Make me one too, John". 

She didn't even turn to look at her, just smiled sadly. She couldn't even rememebr how many times dad called her her father's name. Especially when he was so deep in his head to even notice his surroundings. 

"Here you go, dad," she said while putting tea next to him on the table. She sat in her armchair opposite of him. When she raised her head to look at her, dad was already looking at her. "Back with me so soon?" she asked with a smile. For a second he looked lost, but then sent her a quick smile and reached for his cup. They were sitting in silence for a while, but when she started to fidget a little, dad raised his brow with a question. 

She really, really didn't want to upset him, but she couldn't help but to ask: "Were you thinking about dad?" Nothing, just staring. But then:

"How?" How do you know, of course. She wanted to tease him that of course she knew, she was his daughter after all, but she just said:

"When you are in your mind palace thinking about the case or something else your face is blank. But when you think about dad..." she took a sip of tea. "When you are in your palace and think about him, you look to me like the most happiest and the most miserable man on earth. I can't explain it. I talked about it, once, with Uncle Myc, but he said he didn't notice anything different about your expressions... But you were thinking about dad, right? I mean, you called me his name, so..."

"Did I?" Dad was very careful with his face, this time. He was always embarrassed when someone caught him talking to father like he was still there. After all, it's been twelve years since his death. 

"Yeah." Silence agian. She wanted to talk with him about dad, she always wanted to talk about him, but dad rarely did. When she was younger, dad talked about father non-stop, like he wanted to make sure she didn't forget him, but now for the past six years, since she was ten, he kept thinking about him, but never talked. "Dad... Can we talked about him?"

She knew how she had to look - hopeful, terrified he would say no, determined. 

"Why?" Bastard, she thought with a smile. He knew why, he always knew, but he sometimes made her explain anyway.

A deep breath, "Uncle Greg was near the school when I finished so he gave me a lift and... You two just finished a case and Uncle was talking about how you figured it out that it was a shopkeeper and... You know I love it when you explain how it was done, so I said brilliant or something and Uncle chuckled and said that dad used to say the same all the time and that... that I sound exactly like him and... And I wonder if I really do. Everyone says so, but you never..." her confidence was slipping with every word.

Dad was studying her. His elbows were on the the armchair's sides and he made a triangle with his fingers. She could tell he was going to reply, so she gave him few minutes. 

"You do," he finally said. "You were only four when he... But somehow you have his mannerism. You are as intelligent as I am but you never let people know, you prefer to just smile like you are harmless little nobody. Your father tended to do the same. But everyone still have this respect for you, without you even trying. The same resepect they feel around John. You and him have same sense of humour, a little dry, kind of sarcastic, but not mean. You squint your eyes when you want to punch someone or you can't believe someone could said something so stupid. John... your father was always very liked by everyone but he still had only small circle of friends and he is... I mean... he was always protective of them, you are the same. Don't like eating food he didn't, for example tomatoes. You both hate them. And you love to read novels, stories and you like to write - you have so many journals - and you are so patient and calm, but at the same time you have a bad temper. Just like your father..."

Annabelle loved him. To pieces. She noticed the slips, when he spoke in present time about dad. She could see it was hard for him to talk about him, but he still did. For her. Because she asked and he never could say no to her. She remembered father laughing at him for being 'a sucker', like he was any better. He always spoiled her when dad wasn't around, but all of them knew that dad was perfectly aware of father's doing. How it was that she had eidetic memory but she had just a handful of memories of her father.

Before she could help herself she askes: "Does it hurt? That I am so much like him?"

For a second she thought he would lie to her, but instead he replied "Yes." She smiled.

Now that she had him talking, she couldn't stop. "Your fall... You were gone for two years before getting back to dad. Did you..." she cut herself in the middle. She couldn't ask it. But dad knew what she wanted to know - did you thought it was just a payback and he would be back soon?

"I... I was there with your father when he was... We were waiting for ambulance, I was trying to stop the bleeding. I was there. And still... after twelve years I still look from the window thinking I will see him coming home. I never do." 

"How is that possible to miss him so much? He is gone for longer that you two knew each other." It would be a cruel thing to say if not for the fact she was crying. If not for the fact that she was actually asking how _she_ can miss him so much even when she barely remembered him.

"John Watson is the best thing that could ever happen to me. If not him, I would be alone, isolated, I wouldn't have you. He loved me. He loved me as I am, with every flaw I have - and we both knew I have a lot of them - he loved me. I could drive with insane, I would make him yell and throw things, but at the end of the day he was always there. He never left. Even when he needed time alone he always made sure I knew he would be back. And when I wasn't he wouldn't even leave the room. I loved him. He knew, of course he knew, but I still coulnd't tell him that too often. I was afraid if I do, he would disappear. He sitll did."

"Dad? You know it was not your fault, right?" He looked at her with a sad smile. 

"You are just like your father, always making sure I'm all right. Yes. I do. He made sure I knew that."

"Was it the last thing he said?"

"No. He kept saying that he loved him."

"He wanted his last words to be his love to you."

"Yes." She was hurting him. With all the questions about dad, she was opening wounds that could never truly heal. She stood up and walked to dad's armchair. Without asking, he opened his arms and uncrossed his legs, so she could crawl into his laps. He pulled her into his chest so she could listen to his heartbeat and he could put his cheek on her head. She felt him kissing her hair.

"Aren't you too old to sit in your dad's laps?" he asked with a smile.

"Never. You can be damn sure, I'm gonna sit here even when I'm forty." He laughed. 

She didn't know how long they were sitting like that, but she was slowly dropping off. She heard her dad saying:

"Your father loves you very much. He used to say that you are his sun, his little angel. He adores you."

"I know," she replied almost asleep. "I read his blog."

Dad's grip around her tighten. "Good," he whispered. "I love you too, Annabelle Sherlock Watson. You are my everything."

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts?


End file.
